Semper Lie
by Tor Raptor
Summary: Sherlock tells a small fib to get out of going somewhere boring with Lestrade. Little does he know just how far he'll have to take the lie. Meanwhile, John is irrationally convinced that Sherlock is kicking him out of the flat and takes drastic measures.


**Warning: the following should not be taken seriously under any circumstances. Should you choose to read this, proceed with the caveat that everyone will be ridiculously out of character to the point of being absurd. This story is based on my favorite episode of the Looney Tunes show; it's literally a direct transcript of the dialogue, so credit goes to them. I simply subbed in the names of Sherlock characters, and the result is actually quite hilarious. For anyone who's not familiar with this version of Looney Tunes, I will provide a brief summary:**

 **Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck are roommates. Bugs is dating Lola; Daffy is dating Tina. Porky the Pig is their awkward friend. They often eat at a pizza restaurant run by Speedy Gonzalez. That's about all you need to know. Now, for this version:**

 **Bugs Bunny = Sherlock Holmes**

 **Daffy Duck = John Watson**

 **Lola = Molly Hooper (I guess that makes this fic established Sherlolly, but their relationship really isn't all that important in the context of the story)**

 **Porky Pig = Lestrade**

 **Speedy Gonzalez = Angelo (weird they both have a restaurant-friend, huh?)**

 **Tina = Mary**

 **I think the most unrealistic transfer of a character's personality is Daffy/John, as you will see. But I'll let you form your own opinions. Without further ado, go ahead and read this ridiculousness!**

"Mary, I hear what you're saying. I do. I just feel that since you were with me when I got the parking ticket, you should pay half of it," John says into the phone. It's perched between his shoulder and his head, since both hands are busy making a PB&J. The phone beeps; another call is coming through. "I gotta go. It's the other line. Hello? This is John Watson." He pauses, listening to the other person speak. "Oh, you know, I would love to go door to door to help the mayor get reelected. But unfortunately I'm not a British citizen, so I probably shouldn't get involved with your politics."

Sherlock sighs from his perch on the couch. John was always getting into nonsense like this.

"Where am I from?" John asks. He looks over and sees the headline on the day's newspaper, something about a war in the Balkans. "Albania. I'm from Albania." He suddenly switches to a ridiculously fake foreign accent. "Yes. I am—how you say—visiting your country, so I sorry but please do take me off your phone list. Okay? Adios! That's Albanian for goodbye!"

~0~

"Sherlock, I hear what you're saying. I just feel that since you're my flatmate, you should pay half of the parking ticket," John explains.

"Now would this payment be in addition to letting you live here for free?" Sherlock questions.

"Yes."

"Sounds like a great deal."

"It is a great deal. It's your chance to get in on the ground floor. Today's the fourteenth. If I don't pay it today the fine doubles."

"Today's the fourteenth? Oh no," Sherlock exclaims, suddenly agitated.

"What?"

"This weekeend's the annual peach festival. Lestrade's going to ask me to go with him," Sherlock says.

"So?"

"So, I've gone there three years in a row. And it's horrible! It takes six hours to get there. You're in the middle of nowhere for the whole weekend. It's hot. There's tons of mosquitoes. You stand in these long lines for peach cobbler, peach soup, peach sandwiches. Ugh. Too much peach."

"Make up an excuse. Lie," John suggests."

"I'm not gonna lie. That's your area."

"Good point. Know your role. But if it were me, I'd tell him I can't go because I'm an alien. I say I look like John Watson on the outside, but I've been taken over by an alien that lives on the inside."

"And why can't the alien go to the peach festival?" Sherlock asks.

"I don't know, he's got a bunch of alien stuff to do. It doesn't matter, he's not gonna ask that. All he'll be thinking about is that I'm an alien," John says, preparing to go outside and do God-knows-what.

"When are you going back to your home planet?" Sherlock remarks.

"Just tell Lestrade you don't want to go."

"I can't do that. It would break his little heart."

"Well, then I guess you're going to the peach festival," John slams the door behind him, leaving Sherlock alone to contemplate his options. Suddenly, the phone rings. Sherlock knows it's Lestrade calling about the peach festival, and he desperately wants to let it ring out, but what choice does he have? He reluctantly answers it.

"Hey Lestrade," he greets.

"Hey," he replies.

"How's it going?

"Oh, peachy! You know why? Because this weekend is the peach festival! And this year the theme is dress as your favorite peach!" Lestrade explains. Sherlock can hear his raving excitement through the phone, but he can think of nothing he'd enjoy less than wearing a peach costume.

"Wow. That sounds… fun," Sherlock drawls drily.

"What time should I pick you up?" Lestrade asks.

"Listen, George. Um… I don't think I can go to the peach festival this year."

"What? We go every year! It's our tradition."

"I know."

"Peach soup!"

"I know."

"Why can't you go?" he asks.

"Giles, the truth is I promised Molly I'd do something with her this weekend," Sherlock comes up with the lie on the spot, hoping it's believable enough. Evidently, it isn't.

"Well that's no reason not go," Lestrade says. "Bring her along!"

"Oh, uh… I can't bring her along because she's moving this weekend, and I have to help her," Sherlock explains, glad he didn't have to hesitate for too long to invent the excuse. "I'm helping her move, so that's why I can't go."

"Oh. Well, I'm disappointed. But I understand."

"Thanks Lestrade." Sherlock hangs up the phone and breathes a sigh of relief. "Wow, that was easy."

~0~

John leans up against the brick wall of the bank, sipping a soda. A woman approaches the ATM and withdraws a thick wad of cash. John stares at her, watching her fearfully shove the stack into her purse. She stares back for a moment before sprinting away. He waits a while longer, and DI Lestrade wanders up to him.

"Hey John," he greets. "I didn't know this was your bank too."

"It's not," John quips, taking another sip.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Waiting to see if anyone drops money."

Lestrade accepts this answers cautiously, then proceeds with his withdrawal. John watches over his shoulder as he punches in the numbers.

"Zero, eight, one, two," John reads. "What's the story behind that? Someone's birthday? You've got a lot of money, Lestrade."

The DI grabs the money, and a bill falls to the ground. John picks it up and offers it back to Lestrade. "Thanks," he says, taking the other end of the bill. He tugs on it, but John refuses to let go. Lestrade tried harder and eventually rips it from his grasp. He starts to stalk off, before stopping.

"Oh hey! You want to go to the peach festival with me?" Lestrade asks enthusiastically.

"Can't," John answers. He takes another long sip.

"Why not?"

"I'm not John. I'm an alien that took over his body," John explains.

"Does the alien want to go to the peach festival?

"Who would ask that? I don't think aliens eat peaches, at least not the one in my body. Isn't Sherlock going with you?"

"He can't go. He's helping Molly move," Lestrade says.

"Molly's moving?

"That's what he said."

"Why is Molly moving?"

"I don't know."

"Where's she moving to?"

"I'm not sure," Lestrade says. "Well have a good weekend." With that, he walks away, leaving John alone to contemplate this news.

"Why would Molly be moving?" John asks himself. "She just moved into her flat." He thinks for a second longer, then gasps in horror. "Sherlock must have asked Molly to move in with him! That flat isn't big enough for three people." He gasps again, realizing what this means. "That means I'm out! He's sending me back to my home planet! But I don't have a home planet! I'm not an alien!" John is shouting at this point. The other man who has wandered up to the ATM behind him ignores him as he sprints away screaming. Quickly, John runs back and asks the man, "Were you going to drop any money?"

~0~

Sherlock is enjoying a meal at Angelo's, immensely glad that he saved himself from another weekend in peach hell. But a voice behind him startles him out of his self-satisfied reverie.

"Shouldn't you be packing boxes?" Sherlock looks to his right, and there stands Lestrade.

"Oh, hey Gavin," Sherlock greets. "Yeah, just grabbing a quick meal. Then off to pack all those boxes. Shouldn't you be at the peach festival?"

"I'm getting some food for the road," Lestrade explains.

"Hey Sherlock, hey Lestrade." Sherlock instantly knows he's doomed. There is only one person who could possibly make this situation worse, and she just wandered inside. He turns yet again to find himself face to face with Molly Hooper.

"Molly! What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I was just getting some lunch," she says.

"Oh, we should all eat together," Lestrade suggests.

"We can't," Sherlock interjects. "You gotta get on the road," he tells Lestrade.

"Oh, where're you going?" Molly asks him, sounded interested.

"Doesn't matter," Sherlock quips, hoping Lestrade won't answer.

"The peach festival," Lestrade says. Sherlock knows he's landed himself in an impossible conundrum, but he'll do whatever he can to prevent this from escalating.

"How's Lestrade's food coming, Angelo?" Sherlock calls into the kitchen, hoping for a distraction.

"Oh, the peach festival!" Molly sounds _very_ interested. "I've always wanted to go to that."

"Yep, it's a lot of fun," Sherlock interrupts. "Tons of fun. Angelo!" Finally, the man returns with Lestrade's food.

"Look man, just because I'm fast doesn't mean my oven is fast. It's just a regular oven," he states, before dashing away.

"Okay, you got your food. It's time to hit the road." Sherlock grabs Lestrade by the shoulders and ushers him away.

"Oh, alright. Well, have a great weekend!" As Lestrade heads for the exit, Sherlock sighs with relief at a crisis averted. But everything is ruined when Lestrade turns around and tells Molly, "Good luck with your move." Sherlock groans.

"What move?" she asks.

"Sherlock said he's helping you move this weekend."

"I'm not moving. Why'd you tell him I was moving?" Molly asks, turning her attention to Sherlock, who is now panicking.

"Yeah," Lestrade adds. "Why'd you say Molly was moving?

"I didn't say Molly," Sherlock defends, thinking rapidly. "I said… Lolly. Lolly's moving!"

"Who's Lolly?" Molly asks.

"You're asking me who Lolly is?" Sherlock inquires, knowing it's a perfectly reasonable question given what he's just said. He just wants to run away, but he's gotten himself into a tight spot and needs to wheedle himself out before he can flee.

"Yeah, who's Lolly?" Lestrade asks.

"Lolly's my… sister."

"You have a sister?" Molly says.

"I didn't know you had a sister," Lestrade adds.

"Yeah. My big sister Lolly," Sherlock lies.

"How come we've never met her?" Lestrade questions.

"Oh, um… well. She's shy. Painfully shy."

"We have to meet her before she moves," Molly insists.

"That… that would be nice," Sherlock begins. "But, Lestrade's going to the peach festival, so… you know."

"Forget the peach festival! Meeting your sister's more important than a peach festival!" Lestrade exclaims.

"Yeah, we'll help you guys with the move. Where does she live?" Molly asks.

"Where does she live?" Sherlock repeats.

"Yeah, what's her address?

"Ummm," Sherlock hesitates. "463 Market Street," he says the first thing that comes to his mind. Apparently it was the wrong thing.

"Ooh, that's a rough part of town," Lestrade says.

"It is? I mean, I know. That's why she's moving," Sherlock explains.

"I'd better go cancel my hotel reservation," Lestrade says. "Looks like I'm staying in town this weekend."

"Lestrade, you really don't have to," Sherlock tells him, desperate for him to leave for the peach festival so he can drop this act.

"See you tomorrow," Lestrade turns around and leaves the restaurant.

"Oh, I am so excited to meet your sister!" Molly exclaims, clasping her hands together in excitement.

"Molly, you're not going to meet my sister," Sherlock says.

"What? Why?"

"Because I don't have a sister! I lied to Lestrade so I wouldn't have to go to the peach festival with him."

Molly looks at him, deadly serious, and says, "Okay, first of all, you would never lie, that's not your area. Second of all, who wouldn't want to go to a peach festival? Third of all, I totally see what's going on here: you don't want me to meet your sister because you're afraid we'll become best friends and I won't have time for you." She rests her hands on either side of his face and reassures, "Locky, I will always have time for you. Always. Except right now; this is my 'me' time. I came in here to eat by myself, you're kind of smothering me. Boundaries," she chimes, swiping his plate right out from under him.

~0~

Mary is at work at the Copy Place when a man approaches her holding a ripped up piece of paper. "Excuse me. One of your fax machines just ate my resume," he complains.

She turns, annoyed at being interrupted. "Bummer." Before the man can reply, John storms in and literally tackles him out of the way. Without so much as a greeting he asks, "Can I move in with you?"

"What?" Mary says.

"Molly's moving into Sherlock's flat, so I'm out. Let me live with you."

"Uhh, I'm not living with anyone 'til I'm married," Mary defends. John stares at her for a moment and then drops to one knee.

"Darling…"

"No," she cuts him off before he can continue. He turns around to the man he'd shoved earlier and repeats, "Darling." The man stalks off angrily. "I guess romance really is dead," John remarks.

~0~

Lestrade was right; Market Street is a terrible part of town. Sherlock has never been there before, but he can tell from one glimpse that it's run down and crime addled.

"Why did I have to say Market Street?" he sighs. He pulls up outside 463, the address he mentioned to Lestrade. The windows are broken and inside looks like an abandoned warehouse. "Poor Lolly." He steps back and says, "Okay. Now I have to fill it with a bunch of furniture for tomorrow's move. But where am I going to get a bunch of furniture?" He snaps his fingers, an idea formulating in his head.

~0~

John arrives home, talking to himself as he opens the front door. "Maybe I'm overreacting. Just because Molly's in doesn't mean I'm out. They probably want me to live with them. I'm the fun guy! They need me here." He opens the door to his bedroom and screams; all the furniture has been removed. Sherlock must've taken it upon himself to get rid of it before even telling John that he's kicking him out.

~0~

Back at Market Street, Sherlock finishes putting all of John's furniture up. Lestrade and Molly enter, and the DI says, "This neighborhood's even worse than I thought. I hope my car's okay out there."

Molly takes one look around and asks solemnly, "Where did Lolly get this furniture? It's hideous."

"Well, I didn't exactly have a lot of time to get anything better," Sherlock defends, not realizing the implications of this comment.

"Huh?" Lestrade huffs.

"I mean when I picked out the furniture, when she moved in all those years ago," Sherlock corrects.

"That's a weird place to put a bed," Molly says.

Sherlock glares at her and growls, "It's a fine place to put a bed."

"It's too bad Lolly had to work on a Saturday," Lestrade says, packing some books into a box.

"Yep, I know," Sherlock says. "She really wanted to meet you guys."

Molly wanders over to the dresser and stares at something engraved in the wood. She inquires, "Why does her dresser say property of John Watson?"

"Huh?" Sherlock panics. "Oh, well, she and John had a thing at uni. It didn't end well."

"John went to university?" Molly sounds surprised.

Not wanting to make up any more lies, Sherlock tells her, "Just pick up a box." The anger and tension in his tone is poorly disguised, but fortunately his two friends haven't picked up on it. After a while, they finally get everything packed into a waiting moving truck.

"Well, we did it," Sherlock sighs, wiping sweat off his brow. "Lolly's all moved out. So I'll take it from here."

"Well we can come with you to her new place," Molly suggests.

"Ooh, that's a great idea," Lestrade chimes in. "She's gonna need help moving in."

"No," Sherlock states firmly. Lestrade and Molly's faces fall.

"Why not?" Molly asks.

"Her new place is really, really far away," Sherlock explains.

"Where is it?" Lestrade inquires.

"Very, very far," Sherlock tries to think of the first faraway place that comes to mind. "She's moving to… Albania."

"Albania? Then why did we load up a trailer with all of her stuff? You can't drive to Albania," Lestrade says.

"Huh? Oh, right. That's why I was gonna drive to… a shipping company. You ship stuff to Albania. Everyone knows that." Sherlock turns around and starts to worry about what he's getting himself into.

~0~

"So you want to ship everything in that trailer to Albania," the man behind the desk confirms.

"No, I just said that outside in front of those crazy people," Sherlock explains. He looks back to see Molly and Lestrade staring through the window waving at him ridiculously. Sherlock continues, "I actually just need all this shipped back to my house. Here's the address."

The man picks up the piece of paper he wrote on and reads it. "This is like five minutes from here, it'd be a lot cheaper just to drive it there."

"I'm well aware of that," Sherlock drawls. The man shrugs and punches some numbers in his computer.

"That'll be one thousand two hundred forty eight pounds," he announces. Sherlock angrily hands him his card. To make matters worse, the man then takes a bite of Sherlock's current least favorite fruit from a bowl on the counter. "Peach?" he offers.

"No thanks," Sherlock says.

~0~

"So let me get this straight. For the next eight years, you're gonna give me a place to live, you're gonna provide me with all my meals, and you're gonna pay me? That's an even better deal than I had! Where do I sign up?" John exclaims.

"Right here," the burly man slides a piece of paper across the desk for him to sign. He stands up, uniform pins glinting in the fluorescent light, and extends his hand for a shake. "Welcome to the Marines."

John takes his hand and shakes it. "This is gonna be fun. I've always liked marine life. I had a goldfish when I was a kid. Gene. Gene the goldfish. No, Gordon. Gordon the goldfish. Or was it Gary?"

~0~

Sherlock, Molly, and Lestrade all sit in the living room. Everything is silent but for the ticking of a clock on the wall. Sherlock could cut the awkwardness in the room with a knife. Lestrade and Molly both smile wide, toothy grins at him. Sherlock attempts a half-hearted smile in return, but internally he's begging them both to leave.

"You know you guys can go," he says. "You don't have to wait."

"But isn't Lolly staying here tonight so you can take her to the airport tomorrow?" Lestrade asks.

"Did I say that?" Sherlock monotones, hating himself for not keeping up with his own lies.

"Uh-huh," Lestrade nods.

"Then I guess she's staying here." Sherlock stands, "Excuse me for just a second. Glass of water." He goes to the kitchen and pulls out his phone, calling the one person he thinks might be able to help in this situation.

"This is Angelo," the man on the phone says.

"Do me a favor. Call me back in one minute," Sherlock instructs before hanging up abruptly. He returns to the living room and sits down.

"Where's your water?" Molly asks.

"Oh. We're out," Sherlock says on instinct. Damn, that makes no sense. He can see the evident confusion on both their faces. Fortunately, his phone rings. He picks it up, seeing that it's Angelo. "It's Lolly," he says, picking up the phone. "Oh. Hi Lolly."

"Lolly?" Angelo sounds hopelessly confused.

"What's that? You're stuck at work and won't be home 'til after midnight?"

"Oh, I see what's going on," Angelo says slyly. "You're pretending I'm some fictional person saying lines I'm not saying. I get it."

"Okay, I'll let them know," Sherlock says with a laugh. "Yes, I'll tell them how disappointed you are that you didn't get to meet them."

"It's gonna snowball," Angelo warns. Sherlock's face pales, knowing he's right. "It's gonna get out of control, man."

"It already has," Sherlock mumbles under his breath. He switches the tone of his voice, "Okay Lolly. Thanks for calling."

"I mean, I expect this kind of thing from John, but not you Sherlock. That's not your area. Know your role."

"Okay," Sherlock says through gritted teeth.

"I'm telling you, this is gonna end badly, man," Angelo says.

"Love you too," Sherlock chimes.

"Oh, can I please say hi to her?" Molly asks. Sherlock quickly hangs up to prevent that from happening.

"Oh. I lost her," he says. "She went into a tunnel."

"I thought you said she was at work," Lestrade points out.

"Oh, right. She is. She works in tunnels," Sherlock says. "She's a tunneler. Okey dokey, well, we tried." He ushers Molly and Lestrade out the door. "Thanks for everything today. It was so helpful." He then slams the door on them.

"You know, I think I have a cousin who's a tunneler," Molly remarks. "Lolly and I would've had so much in common. So much to talk about."

~0~

John now finds himself in a barber shop at a Marines base. "Now I definitely like to take risks with my hairstyle, but I don't want to be a victim to trends. Obviously I'm not afraid to use product; it's definitely helpful with texture and body. But I don't want to be a slave to product. There are times when I want to look polished, and then there are times when I want to wash and go. So what I'd love is for this haircut to be able to do both," he explains, throwing a coy smile to the barber in front of him. The man takes a razor and just buzzes his hair nearly to the scalp. John turns in the chair and looks at himself in the mirror. "That's a great haircut," he says. "And I'm a licensed cosmetologist, so I know what I'm talking about. He stands and marches out of the room.

That night, a loud man yells, "Lights out!" to the room full of bunk beds and other men. "Reveille is at oh-five hundred!" The lights go out and John pulls the covers up to his shoulders.

"They even turn the lights out for you, this place is incredible," he mutters to himself.

"Get your sleep! You're gonna need it!" the loud man shouts before slamming the door.

"That guy yells a lot, but I like him. I think he's nice. I just really like the Marines so far. Goodnight, Clarkrin," he says to the man in the bunk above. John gets up and climbs a few steps so he can talk to the other man face to face. He barely noticed the wide-eyed look of panic on Clarkrin's face. "Oh, hey Clarkrin. I set my alarm for eleven thirty, but don't be afraid to wake me if the guys go whale watching or some other fun marine thing like that."

John returns to his bunk, but sleep doesn't find him. "Psst, Clarkrin," he whispers. "On second thought, forget about getting me up early. You can just tell me about the whale watching. Mama needs her beauty sleep, you know what I mean."

~0~

Sherlock is asleep at home when the goddamn phone rings, waking him up. He looks at the clock and wonders who the hell is calling him at four thirty in the morning. Reluctantly, he picks up the phone and answers, "Hello?"

Lestrade's voice greets him on the other end. "Where are you guys?"

"Huh?"

"We're at the airport. Lolly's flight boards in less than an hour."

"How do you know that?" Sherlock asks.

"We called the airport. This is the only flight to Albania today," Lestrade explains.

"Of course it is," Sherlock sighs exhaustedly. "I mean—we're stuck in traffic," he corrects. "So we'll be there soon." He hangs up and grumbles, "Man, I wish I was at that peach festival."

~0~

Back at the Marines base, someone bangs on the metal bunk with a rod. "Get up! Get up! Get up!" the loud man shouts. All around, men snap out of their beds and salute. "Look alive jacknapes, get a move on!" He starts reading a list of names, "Anderson."

"Sir, yes sir!" a man answers.

"Meninez."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Clarkrin."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Watson." No answer. "Watson! John Watson!" John is still fast asleep, snoring loudly. The man walks over and blows a whistle barely two inches from John's ear. He wakes up with his head ringing and his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

"I'm sorry, there must be some mistake," John says, stumbling out of bed. "I was gonna sleep in this morning." He turns to Clarkrin beside him and growls, "I thought I make that clear to Clarkrin!" He continues, "Are you guys going to breakfast? I'd join you, but I thought I'd try and get a little more shuteye. Don't worry about me, I'll just grab a granola b—"

"Listen to me you little maggot," the man yells, bringing his face up dangerously close to John's. "From now on, you will speak only when spoken to. You're about to endure more pain and suffering than you ever thought possible, and it only gets worse from there. This is not summer camp, this is not finishing school, this is your worst nightmare! This is the Royal Marines!"

"Oh… that Marines," John says, finally realizing his fatal mistake.

~0~

At the airport, Lestrade and Molly are waiting. Sherlock peeks out from around a corner. He has put his disguise skills to the test, dressing as his own imaginary sister. He hasn't worn a dress in forever, not since that one incident many years ago, and his ability to walk in heels fortunately hasn't suffered much since. "And I thought it would be bad to be dressed as my favorite peach," he remarks.

"Oh, that must be Lolly!" Molly squeals, looking Sherlock's way. She whispers to Lestrade, "Sherlock obviously got the looks in the family."

"Lolly?" Lestrade greets as Sherlock strides up to them.

"That's me," Sherlock says with an obnoxious giggle. Why didn't he just say yes to the peach festival?

Molly hurriedly embraces him in a bone-crushing hug. "It's like I have a sister," she cries.

"Where's Sherlock?" Lestrade asks.

"Oh… he dropped me off out front," Sherlock explains hesitantly. Molly finally releases him.

"Couldn't handle a long goodbye, that is so him," she says with a wave of her hand. "You know, underneath that cold exterior and all that sarcasm, he's just a vulnerable little bunny in need of a good cry."

"Yeah, he wants to cry all right," Sherlock says tightly, hating himself for letting things get so far. An announcement comes on; they're boarding the flight to Albania now. "Well, you guys should probably get going," Sherlock insists.

"Oh, wait. I made you these traditional Albanian dumplings for the flight," Lestrade says, handing him a container.

"And I got you this Albanian flag," Molly announces. She grabs her bag from the floor and pulls out a flag. "Well, it's a Mexican flag. They didn't have an Albanian flag. It's probably in the ballpark though." She hands him the flag.

"I can't believe we all just met, and now you're going to Albania," Lestrade sighs.

"I can't believe I'm going to Albania either," Sherlock says. He's really going to have to go through with this ridiculous escapade. The final boarding call for the flight is announced. Lestrade and Molly take turns giving him hugs. "Look at me… going to Albania." Sherlock walks towards the gateway.

"Make sure you look out the window when you take off," Molly calls after him.

"We'll be waving!" Lestrade adds.

"Of course you will," Sherlock growls. There's no way out, so he boards the flight. Maybe Albania is nice this time of year.

~0~

Sherlock arrives in Albania, walking between a hunched old lady and a man carrying two enormous sausages. He gives his passport to the man at the desk, hoping to catch a flight home soon. The man looks at him, then at the picture on the passport, then back at him. Too late, Sherlock realizes he's still wearing his disguise. The man summons two burly security guards with assault rifles.

"Problem?" Sherlock asks, trying to sound innocent. Not innocent enough. They throw him in a musty jail cell with an armed guard posted at the door. With nothing better to do, he avows his innocence as vehemently as possible, "I'm not a spy! There's a simple explanation for this! I was dressed as a woman because I was pretending to be my fake sister so that I didn't have to go to the peach festival with Lestrade!" Nobody responds to his cries even the slightest. He's doomed. "Oh boy," he sighs dejectedly. He looks over at the next cell. A haggard old man with a long white beards leans his face through the bars. He looks like he hasn't had a bath in weeks. Sherlock asks, "How you doin?"

~0~

Back at the Marines base, John is knee deep in the toughest training of his life. He's shorter than all the others, and whenever they march he happens to trip over the same knot in the ground. Every single time. He's no good at rope climbing, so he gets yelled at. The drill sergeant always gets so close that he can feel spittle sprinkling his ears and face. Instead of climbing the wall, he saws a hold in it and climbs through, so he gets yelled at. His backpack is too heavy for him to even lift, much less carry, so he gets yelled at.

Eventually, he gets the hang of it. Maybe it was the yelling. He officially finishes training and recruited into the Marines. But he still trips over that same spot on the grounds. Every. Damn. Time.

~0~

ONE YEAR LATER:

Sherlock marks another chalk line on the wall of his cell. He's grown a thick beard and his eyes are wide and bloodshot from many sleepless nights. At this point, he's lost all hope of ever going home. Suddenly, the door to his cell burst open and a man bursts in, wearing all black with goggles and a mask and carting an impressive-looking gun.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asks.

"We're the Royal Marines. You're coming home," the man says. Sherlock follows him and his comrades out, bullets flying all around them. They hide behind stone columns and return fire. When they get outside, more men are engaged with some unseen foe.

"Sherlock?" he hears his name, in a voice he'd never expect to hear all the way out here. He turns around and sees irrefutable proof that it really is him.

"John?!" he's utterly shocked.

"What are you doing in an Albanian prison?" John asks, removing his mask to reveal his face.

"What are you doing in the Marines?" Sherlock counters.

"I needed somewhere to go after you kicked me out of the house!" John explains. More gunfire, and a line of bullet holes appears right at their feet. John shoots back, a determined grimace on his face.

"I didn't kick you out of the house!" Sherlock exclaims. John throws a grenade and an explosion rocks the ground beneath them. Sherlock hits the ground and covers his head.

"Then why did you tell Lestrade you were helping Molly move?" John lets loose another round of bullets.

"I just told them so I wouldn't have to go to the peach festival."

"You lied!" John gasps. "Who taught you to lie?!" Another of the Marines picks Sherlock up from behind and starts carrying him to safety.

"You did!" Sherlock calls back to John.

"You're not a liar! That's my area!" John says, now running after Sherlock. A grenade flies in and explodes mere meters behind them. They make it to the relative safety of a helicopter. John dangles from the open side, still shooting at the Albanians below. "Know your role!"

~0~

"You mean it was all a lie? Why didn't you tell me?" Molly asks, once Sherlock has returned home safely. He's shaved and washed up after nearly a year of living in that horrible cell, and they're now seated at Angelo's.

"I did tell you," Sherlock says.

"Oh. Right. You totally told me," Molly sighs.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade enters the restaurant. "I can't imagine what you've been through, being in prison for a year. How'd it happen?"

"Well, it's kind of a long story," Sherlock warns.

"Perfect! You can tell us in the car," Lestrade says cheerfully.

"The car? Where are we going?" Sherlock asks.

"This weekend's the peach festival!" Molly cheers.

"You're kidding."

"I can't believe you got out when you did," Lestrade says. "A few more days and you would've missed the peach festival two years in a row! You're so lucky." He and Molly make their way out, leaving Sherlock alone with this wonderful news.

"So. Lucky," he says to himself.

~0~

"Well, at least I'll never run out of pickled peaches," Sherlock sighs, unpacking jar after jar from a box he brought home. John enters the room and sits down at the table. "What are you doing here?" Sherlock asks.

"I'm not cut out for the Marines," John says. "Too hard."

"And they just let you out?" Sherlock wonders aloud, knowing that's not how it works.

"No."

"Then how'd you get out?"

In answer, John plops a bare foot up on the table and says, "Flat feet." That's the extent of his explanation, as he's soon distracted by what Sherlock is unpacking. "Ooh, pickled peaches!"

 **I can officially say this is the most ridiculous thing I've ever written. At certain parts, I struggled to type because I was laughing so hard. I might transcribe other episodes if I think they would result in something as nonsensical as this, but I'm not sure. We'll see.**


End file.
